


I'm Touching Hands (With Someone Seriously Beautiful)

by texaswatermelon



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-19
Updated: 2011-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-19 14:10:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/texaswatermelon/pseuds/texaswatermelon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“What do you want me to say, Q? Do you want me to tell you you’re pretty; that if I wasn’t trying to woo Brittany I’d totally be trying to get with you instead?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Touching Hands (With Someone Seriously Beautiful)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Glee is property of Ryan Murphy Television and 20th Century Fox. All characters, places, and recognizable names herein have been borrowed for the use of this fanfiction. Title from “He About to Lose Me” by Britney Spears. This story is a work of fiction and is in no way affiliated with the aforementioned groups. No infringement intended.
> 
> Word Count: 2,720
> 
> A/N: Written for this prompt at the glee_kink_meme: _Quinn is feeling insecure, Santana’s recently came out of the closet; it’s seems like an easy solution; Quinn goes to Santana to maybe coax her into admitting she’s had a crush on her or something like that, only she gets way more than she bargained for; Santana tells her she’s beautiful and touches her like she means it, Quinn ends up crying at the sincerity of it all._ This doesn’t follow that exactly, but it’s pretty close. This is my first attempt at Quinntana because I really don’t even ship them tbh, but more importantly it’s my first real attempt at Santana, so please let me know how it is because I will need to perfect this for another fic I’m writing.
> 
> Warnings: Lots of swearing, because seriously, this is _Santana_ , guys. And also some poorly written sex. Abuse of commas and rambly, run-on sentences. And speculation for the events of 2x20 “Prom Queen.” Un-beta’d, as usual, so any and all mistakes belong to me. Also, this is like, a little harsh towards Rachel Berry, not that I don’t love her, but again, this is Santana. And Quinn. So yeah.

Prom is a total clusterfuck which, _hello_ , Santana could have fucking told everyone as much if they would have taken the time to seek out her unfailing wisdom, but whatever. Santana would have been perfectly happy sulking around with her big gay beard of a date watching Brittany dance circles around Wheels and look totally fucking gorgeous doing it, but then _Berry_ of all the goddamn clichés in the world got crowned Prom Queen and things actually got interesting for once in this Podunk sad ass excuse for a settlement. To put the berry on top of that clusterfuck cupcake with totalfuckingdisaster filling and nofuckingway frosting on top, _Finnocence_ got to be her pastry-nippled Prom King and the two of them practically impregnated each other with little clown-footed, potato-headed, Jewish-nosed Oompa Loompa babies with the full fucking power of their adoring glances while they shared their royal dance.

If losing the crown to Berry wasn’t enough to make Fabray’s precious little head explode, then watching Frankenteen fall back into love with his psycho midget was, and she practically dragged Berry into the girl’s bathroom to go all Carrie on her ass. Of course Santana followed, because who the fuck in their right mind would want to miss Berry getting chopped up into little pieces and flushed down the toilet like she deserves, but she stayed outside because her dress was fucking hot, okay?, and she didn’t want to get any of Berry’s demon blood on it. Still, she could hear the smack from all the way out in the hallway and it kind of made her cringe, especially when she saw the mark on Berry’s face when the troll flew out of the bathroom sobbing like she’d just found out that Streisand kicked the bucket. A few minutes later, Q strolled out looking like a fucking Stepford wife and it kind of freaked Santana out a little, but when Blondie gave her a _what the hell are you looking at_ glare Santana just rolled her eyes and grabbed her by the hand.

“Come on; let’s go back to my place. This prom blows anyway,” she said, and for once Quinn didn’t argue.

Which is exactly how Santana manages to find herself sitting in her bedroom in an empty house watching reruns of _The Real Housewives_ with Quinn and passing a half-empty bottle of wine between them.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get voted Prom Queen,” Santana says during a Tide commercial, and Quinn nearly breaks her damn neck because she turns her head so fast to stare at her. Santana shrugs. “What? I know you really wanted it in that creepy Snow White Evil Queen kind of way, so I’m sorry that you lost.”

Quinn looks like she’s half offended, but she looks more surprised that Santana’s actually being nice to her, so she mutters a thanks anyway.

After a few minutes, Santana can’t hold it in anymore, so she says, “But seriously, you lost to Rachel fucking _Berry_.” This time Quinn really does look pissed, so Santana holds up both hands defensively and hands Quinn the wine as a peace offering. “I was just saying,” she mutters while Quinn takes a giant, angry gulp.

They’re silent again after that and Santana watches the show, thinking that one day _she’ll_ be on there showing all those bitches how to do it right with Brittany as her sexy, famous dancer wife, when Quinn speaks.

“She could have had Finn.”

Santana presses mute and turns to look at Quinn like what the fuck because, really, _what the fuck_?

“What the fuck are you talking about, Q?”

Quinn clenches her jaw and gets that sexually-repressed look on her face that Santana hates so much.

“Rachel,” she clarifies finally and Santana almost chokes on her wine when Quinn says Berry’s actual name. “She could have taken Finn and I wouldn’t have cared that much. But Prom Queen… that was mine. She couldn’t take that without consequence.”

Santana stares at her in disbelief for several seconds. “You are one crazy white bitch,” she says slowly. Quinn just purses her lips. “Seriously, Q, what the hell is really so goddamn special about being Prom Queen? It’s not like anyone’s really going to remember ten years from now.”

“I will,” Quinn snaps angrily, eyes blazing as she looks at Santana. “Ten years from now when Rachel’s making it big on Broadway and Kurt’s some giant gay icon and Mercedes has her own recording contract and Brit’s dancing backup for Beyoncé and you’re lawyering people out of house and home, I’m going to be stuck here with a job I hate and a husband I don’t love and kids I never wanted and the only thing I’m going to have is a bunch of memories from high school of when _I_ was the one on top. The only thing I wanted was to be the head cheerleader and the Prom Queen so that one day when I’m nobody, I can look back on those days and remember when I was somebody and now thanks to Berry, I won’t even have that.”

By this point there are tears escaping Quinn’s eyes and she swipes at them angrily and turns back to the television so that she doesn’t have to see Santana gaping at her like a child gawking at a circus freak. She bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying more and tries to pretend like she didn’t just say everything she just said.

“Q,” Santana says finally, and it’s too quiet for Quinn’s liking so she ignores it and stares at the TV, wishing that the sound was still on. “Why the hell would you think that you’re going to be stuck here after high school? You’re almost as psychotically ambitious as Berry and you’re smart enough to do anything you fucking want.” Santana laughs bitterly and shakes her head, because she’s going to fucking regret this, but whatever. “I can’t believe I’m going to fucking say this, but you’re the one goddamn person in this entire piece of shit town that I’ve ever looked up to.” Quinn whirls her head around to stare at her again. “You get everything naturally that I’ve had to work my ass off for and still don’t have. You fucking walked into that school freshman year and owned the captain’s spot on the Cheerios while I had to claw my way up the pyramid. You get any guy you want even though they know you won’t put out and I’m just the girl they come to for a fuck when you won’t. Christ, even Brittany would rather be with Roller Rick than me.”

Quinn has the decency to look sympathetic, even though Santana doesn’t want her to. “You know she loves you, San.”

“Yeah, well she has a funny fucking way of showing it,” Santana scoffs. “That asshole treats her like shit, but she’d rather be out in the open with him than hidden away in the closet with me. But if I profess my big gay love for her to the whole school, I’m going to end up lower on the totem pole than Jewfro and I’ve worked too fucking hard for that. You could make out with half the fucking Cheerios and all anyone would do is take a couple of pictures and sell them to perverts on eBay. I mean, you walked around like a beached whale for months and people still forgave you.”

They’re both silent for a long time after that as each of them stares at the TV and contemplates their misfortunes.

“I’m not perfect, Santana,” Quinn admits finally, softly.

“Yeah, Q, you kind of are,” Santana argues, but there’s no more fight left in her voice.

“If I’m so perfect, then why are you in love with Brittany instead of me?” Quinn questions. She knows it’s childish and stupid, but she says it anyway.

Santana huffs and rolls her eyes. “B and I just go together. She gets me and I get her. We’re like soul mates or whatever the fuck bullshit Berry pulls out of her ass every time she talks about the teenage giant.” She turns her body to look at Quinn, _really_ look at her. “What do you want me to say, Q? Do you want me to tell you you’re pretty; that if I wasn’t trying to woo Brittany I’d totally be trying to get with you instead?”

“Yes,” Quinn whispers hoarsely before she can stop herself. Santana squints and just barely refrains from shaking her head because is Fabray really that desperate that she needs the approval of a repressed lesbian? But apparently she is because even though her cheeks are blazing red, she doesn’t take it back.

“Well then you better look at me because if Auntie Tana is gonna turn on the charm then she damn well ain’t gonna do it to the top of your blonde head.” Quinn’s eyes dart up and Santana can’t believe how fucking fearful she looks, and hopeful like her life hangs in the balance of whatever she’s going to say. Santana takes a deep breath then because she also can’t fucking believe she’s about to say this shit to Quinn fucking Fabray and _mean it_. “You… you’re beautiful. I look at you sometimes and I don’t understand how someone can be so gorgeous. I see your eyes and how tragic and sad they are sometimes and I just want to take you out of this fucking town full of judgmental hypocrites and away from assholes like Finn who don’t know how fucking lucky they are to have you and just hide away somewhere and love you until you’re happy. I don’t… I don’t really regret most of the things that I’ve done, but sometimes I see you cry when you don’t think anyone’s around and I just… feel fucking awful because you’re so beautiful and you should never have to cry about anything. I wish I was brave enough to be myself around school because if I was, I would take you and make you mine and make that total douchefucker regret ever laying eyes on RuPaul instead of you. I would try anything to make you happy because on the rare occasion that you actually do smile, it’s breathtaking. If things were different; if I was brave and Brit wasn’t in the picture, I would never stop trying to make you my girl because… you’re worth the effort.”

Santana doesn’t know when her throat started to close up or how her voice managed to get so fucking thick and emotional, but she knows that there are silent tears working their way down Quinn’s cheeks and when she puts her hand out to wipe them away, Quinn leans into her touch. Santana swallows thickly and she knows she shouldn’t do this, but she rocks forward on her knees and brushes her lips against Quinn’s so softly. Quinn leans into that, too; kisses her back, makes it more, and when Santana dips her tongue out to taste salty tears, Quinn opens her mouth and lets her in.

Quinn whimpers slightly and Santana’s stomach clenches at the sound because it’s so _desperate_ and Quinn clutches at the sides of her shirt like she needs her. Santana lays her down on the bed and she can’t remember being so gentle in her life, but the way Quinn looks up at her with bright hazel eyes like she might break makes Santana feel the need to be careful. She kisses a path down Quinn’s jaw, runs her hands up Quinn’s sides and moans when Quinn arches into her.

She can’t help but think about the differences; about how Quinn is shorter than Brittany, softer and curvier. She smells different, tastes different, reacts differently to each touch. Her hands are more tentative as they push the material of Santana’s t-shirt up and toss it aside. She waits for Santana to reciprocate instead of taking her own shirt off herself.

Santana trails her kisses across Quinn’s shoulders and chest and Quinn’s breathing gets increasingly ragged with each one; hitches completely when Santana’s lips press against the swell of her breasts. She kisses down further, across taut abs, swirls her tongue around a bellybutton, and she can’t fucking believe Fabray’s luck, but she’ll be damned if she can find even the shadow of a stretch mark. She hooks her fingers into the waistband of the sweatpants Quinn borrowed from her and pulls them down just enough to reveal sharply defined hipbones. She kisses one, nips at it lightly with her teeth and Quinn gasps.

“San,” she rasps, tugging on Santana’s hair just a little and Santana gets the hint and kisses her way back up Quinn’s body. When she gets to the top, Quinn pulls her down and crushes their lips together. “Please,” she whispers desperately, looking up at Santana with hazy eyes. Her body is shaking and Santana’s hand is already snaking down into her sweatpants and slipping underneath her underwear.

The sound that rips its way from Quinn’s throat when her fingers slide into wet folds makes Santana drop her head against Quinn’s shoulder and mutter a rough, “Jesus, Quinn.” Quinn’s hips lift instinctively off of the bed, seeking more contact. Santana’s fingers dance around Quinn’s entrance for a moment before she carefully pushes two of them inside, her eyes locked on Quinn’s face to gauge her reaction. Quinn bites her lip hard and squeezes her eyes shut, but her hips rise to meet Santana’s next thrust and her eyes fly open as Santana’s thumb finds her clit. She starts a slow, steady pace, pressing in and out of Quinn while running light circles around her clit. Quinn meets each thrust with her hips, and her moans are so soft and breathy, almost like she’s afraid to really let herself go, even now.

“It’s okay, Q. Just let it out,” Santana murmurs, but her voice is broken up with heavy breaths and she seeks out some sort of contact on Quinn’s thigh. Quinn gets it and reaches down into Santana’s pants with one hand while the other grips so tightly at Santana’s hip that it almost hurts. She fumbles for a second before she presses two fingers inside, and Santana hisses loudly. “More,” she barely grits out, followed by a broken, “Please,” so Quinn removes her fingers and comes back with three. She matches Santana’s pattern and the two rock against each other, paces quickening and panting heavily into one another’s mouths. Quinn lets out a low moan when Santana curls her fingers up inside of her and mirrors the action, scraping a nail over Santana’s clit. Santana whimpers, moves faster and presses harder.

“Oh God,” Quinn whispers. “S… I think I’m—”

Her whole body tenses and shudders violently and her muscles clamp so tightly around Santana’s fingers that Santana follows a second later. She collapses on top of Quinn while her body twitches and her toes curl up. They lay there for several minutes, breathing heavily. Santana shifts just a little so that she’s not completely suffocating Quinn.

“I can go, if you want,” Quinn says quietly after a few more minutes, but Santana is listless and warm and she just wants to go to sleep.

“Just stay, Q."

Quinn sighs and she’s sort of relieved because she doesn’t think she really wanted to be alone tonight, especially not after this. Tomorrow she’ll have to deal with the fact that there are a million messages on her phone from Finn and she’ll have to think about the fact that she slapped Rachel Berry and she’ll have to remember that she wasn’t crowned Prom Queen. But for now, Santana wraps her arm more tightly around Quinn’s waist and actually, like snuggles into her and it feels kind of nice, so she just closes her eyes and soaks it in.

“Okay,” she breathes, and after a few minutes, “Thanks, S.”

“Just don’t mention this to anyone,” Santana mumbles, and Quinn chuckles. “I’m serious, Q.”

“I know, S,” Quinn says softly, and strokes Santana’s hair to calm her down. Santana’s breathing evens out rather quickly and she grows heavier, but Quinn doesn’t really mind. “You’re beautiful, too, S,” she whispers just before she falls asleep.


End file.
